


O Rest Beside the Weary Road

by Persephoneshadow



Series: Make the Yuletide Gay [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephoneshadow/pseuds/Persephoneshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't need help to feel better when he's hurt, especially if it costs Cas his depleting grace and even more so if it involves watching Christmas movies in the middle of the summer, yet here he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Rest Beside the Weary Road

**Author's Note:**

> The specifc version of the song that inspired the fic title is by Sixpence None the Richer, from the compilation “A Winter’s night” [and can be found over here. Please listen – it’s beautiful.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUBpnwWTHMQ)

_O ye beneath life's crushing load,_  
_Whose forms are bending low,_  
_Who toil along the climbing way_  
_With painful steps and slow;_  
_Look now, for glad and golden hours_  
_Come swiftly on the wing;_  
_O rest beside the weary road_  
_And hear the angels sing._

 

**June**

Dean is not sulking. He doesn’t care what Sam says, he’s not. He just…doesn’t want to come out of his room. Which is a completely normal and fine thing to do when you’re hurt. Specifically when you’re hurt in the dumbest fucking way because you are the dumbest fucking hunter on the planet. He’s just…healing, or whatever. He’s only mixed painkillers and alcohol once in two days which is impressive (shut up, Sam the fact he can’t move his right arm more than three inches without pain or lift a bottle has nothing to do with it, and for the fifth time no, he doesn’t need the stupid shoulder brace thingy, thanyouverymuch).

He’s choosing to remain in the quiet solitude in a completely normal, not sulking way.

“Move over.” Dean isn’t really surprised to be getting a brusque order in that very specific 'this is for your own good, you stubborn moron' tone; he just startled that it’s Cas that’s delivering it from his bedroom door and not Sam.

“Why?” Dean shoots back, his voice a bit rough from pain and disuse. “And also no.”

“Sam says you’re-”

“I am not sulking.”

“-probably bored from wallowing in self-pity,” Cas presses on and Dean rolls his eyes. “He suggested I entertain you.”

“ _You’re_ going to entertain me?” Dean asks, trying to hide that maybe he is a bit curious now.

“If you actually manage to move over, I’m going to try,” Cas answers with a glare. He’s wearing the usual slacks but with a hideous, lumpy sweater pulled over his dress shirt. Apparently slowly fading grace and a drafty bunker equals a cold angel, even in the heat of summer. “Or are you too injured?”

Dean scowls but manages to scoot to the left, clearing the right side of his bed (which he had not been sitting on, staring at nothing, thank you again, Sam, _go away_ ).

“Sam inferred this would be therapeutic,” Cas explains as he produces Dean’s own laptop from under his arm and places it reverently on a pillow beside Dean’s thigh. Dean rolls his eyes so hard he almost throws out his other shoulder. Dean isn’t surprised when Cas settles beside him and opens up Netflix, though they are sitting pretty close.

“I am not watching the fucking prison show…” Dean stops himself when he sees the title Cas has ready to play. “ _Die Hard_?”

“Sam said this was one of your favorite films,” Cas explains. “Metatron didn’t upload this one to me, I guess he hadn’t seen it.”

“Of course that douche never saw _Die Hard_ ,” Dean mutters. “This is a Christmas movie though, man.”

“Nothing in the summary indicated it had anything to do with Christmas. We can make another selection if you…” Cas is already sitting up to click away. Dean grabs him, which makes him wince in pain but the feel of just touching Cas, who is warm though the sweater and stills the moment Dean’s hand is on him, distracts him from the pain.

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” Dean tells him, swallowing down whatever it is he’s thinking. Cas settles back, his shoulder grazing Dean’s uninjured side, heat radiating off him. It's nice. More than nice and for a second Dean lets himself wish that this was the norm, not a special, weird injury exception.

“Good, I’m interested in this one,” Cas says. “There are also sequels.”

“No there aren’t.”

“Dean, I’m quite sure…”

“Shh. Movie’s starting.”

 

Halfway through, they pause because Dean has complained too many times about needing popcorn. Cas comes back with a bowl full of the microwave stuff as well as sodas and pain pills. Dean swallows them dry with a petulant frown.

“I don’t understand why you’re so sullen about this,” Cas says, settling back into his spot next to Dean. "If you just..."

“Cas, no.”

“The shoulder brace will help, Sam wore his for several weeks when he…”

“Sam was injured by a _demon_ ,” Dean cuts him off, turning aggressively and aggravating the very shoulder they’re discussing. “I tripped off a wet stair.”

“And fell into a very hard surface.”

“I _fell into a dumpster_ ,” Dean snaps.

“Not into, just…”

“Shut up, and watch the movie, Cas.” Dean purses his lips in a completely not pouting way and hits play. He can Cas fighting the urge to keep talking beside him.

“I could try to heal you again,” Cas offers after three minutes.

“Nah, man, we’re not wasting what little juice you have left on my stupid shoulder,” Dean says, most of the bitterness gone from his voice. Cas sighs sadly anyway. “You’re helping just…being here.” In his peripheral vision he sees Cas raise an eyebrow.

“Really?”

Dean shifts a bit uncomfortably, yet in a way that brings him a bit closer to Cas’ warmth. “Yeah, really. Save your mojo for when someone important needs it, like you. Now shut up and take in the glory of John McClane.”

 

**July**

“You should go to the hospital,” Sam says for the third, maybe fourth time, his face tight with anger and worry.

“Why? Your stitches are…” Dean winces as he tries to move. “Fine.”

“They’re dental floss!”

“I’ve had worse!”

Sam stares at him, quiet fury simmering in his eyes until the motel room door opens and Cas enters looking rumpled and exhausted; in other words, normal for him.

“Tell him he needs to go to a hospital.”

“Why would I do that? He’ll just say no,” Cas replies, not missing a beat. “The bodies are disposed of. I didn’t know ghouls burned so quickly.”

“Then, I dunno, can’t you try to…” The look Dean sends Sam is enough to shut him up but Cas is already looking down with an expression that might be embarrassment or regret or some combination of the two.

“Sam, shut up and go get us some food, okay,” Dean orders tiredly. “Cas, I've told you before, _don’t_ worry about it.” Sam glares and Cas sighs but no one argues (for once, thank god, or whoever). Dean avoids eye contact and shifts over on the lumpy mattress after Sam is out of the door. “Just, turn on the TV, okay?”

“I…Alright.” Cas switches on the ancient set and Judy Garland’s face flickers onto the screen.

“You seen this one?” Dean asks, trying to sound gruff, not hopeful that the answer is no. Cas gives a minute shake of his head and they both settle against the headboard, Dean somewhat more gingerly, recently patched stab wound and all. 

Judy’s singing about the boy on the trolley when when Dean feels it, a small, cool wisp of relief skittering down from where Cas’s shoulder touches his to his sliced up side.

“Cas, come on, please don’t waste it just because Sam’s whining,” Dean says, even though the pain has already lessened. There’s a small, frustrated huff beside him and the grace retreats. Dean thinks he feels it a few more times, as they continue to watch in silence. Sam takes longer than necessary to get back, maybe out of spite or frustration, but Dean can’t really be mad at someone carrying Italian subs. They finish eating, Sam sprawling on the other bed, just as Judy consoles her little sister about moving then starts singing about having herself a merry little Christmas.

“Why are we watching a Christmas movie?” Sam asks.

“It’s just one song,” Dean blurts out and gets an eyebrow from Sam. “And it’s a classic, okay?”

His brother shakes his head but stays quiet as Judy sings, perfect Hollywood tears dotting her face as she weaves a melody about trouble being out of sight some distant other day in the future that’s probably never gonna come. That’s just the sort of thing you tell your family, Dean thinks. Another nudge of grace radiates from Cas then retreats.

“How you feeling?” Sam asks when the song is over, his voice a bit more cautious than it strictly needs to be.

“Better,” Dean answers without even thinking. He feels Cas relax a bit beside him. “The, uh, rest helps. I’ll be good to hit the road tomorrow I’m sure.”

 

**August**

“I always thought this part was dumb,” Dean confesses, though he’s not sure if Cas can quite hear him, his concentration on the screen is so intense. It’s pretty endearing how _seriously_ Cas takes _Star Trek_. Cas does make his usual ‘Yes, Dean I’m listening, please continue to interrupt the movie’ noise though. “I mean Captain Picard’s perfect paradise is some weird Victorian Christmas with a bunch of rugrats?”

“It’s not so strange,” Cas shrugs. “He wants something more than the journey. He wants something to come home to. A place to...stay.”

“You got all that from – ” Dean gestures to the monitor “ – that?” Cas doesn’t respond. There’s something strange and sad in his expression as he watches, the hand that had been fiddling with the bandages on his arm throughout the movie very still. 

“There were a lot of Christmases in heaven,” Cas tells him quietly a minute later. “I don’t think it’s that dumb.” It turns Dean’s stomach to lead, looking at the _being_ beside him that’s been reduced from something cosmic and huge to a sputtering spark of grace stuck watching crappy movie with sorry excuse for a human who keeps getting his (and in this case, Cas’s) ass kicked.

“You miss it,” Dean murmurs.

“I never quite understood the sentimentality around the holiday, really, even as a human,” Cas answers, shaking of the moment. “The first time,” he adds more quietly. “Though I’m starting to get it, I guess.”

“And you haven’t even started on the real Christmas classics yet,” Dean offers, trying to sound jovial.

“Metatron avoided them, I’m discovering,” Cas sort of agrees.

“Douche,” Dean whispers.

 

**September 19**

Dean’s glad he has an ice pack on his face, it helps hide his expression when he mutters to Cas about grabbing the computer and firing up a Christmas movie out of season because that’s the tradition now. But come on, what better way to celebrate surviving a fight with a demon child than watching _Home Alone_. Neither of them have seen it. It turns out when Dean looks through the lists of greatest Christmas movies, he hasn’t seen many of them. Never got around to it for some reason.

“This is bullshit, I was packing salt round when I was this kid’s size,” Dean grouses around his split lip an hour later. "And he's freaked about being home alone. Whimp."

“I personally don’t see the humor in him trying to murder these men,” Cas agrees and it makes Dean laugh in a way that doesn’t hurt at all.

 

**September 20**

“I thought something with the word ‘miracle’ in the title would have more religious overtones,” Cas muses at the black and white credits roll. “But that was charming.”

“I dunno, last jerk I met pretending to be Santa tried to eat me, so I wasn’t feeling it,” Dean shrugs and his shoulder still protests.

“Are you alright?” Cas’ voice is soft and preemptively apologetic.

“I’m just getting old,” Dean confesses.

“I can go ask Sam for that shoulder brace again.”

“I will punch you.”

 

**September 21**

Dean picks _Christmas Vacation_ , because that one he’s actually seen and he can tell for most of it Cas is indulging him, just as he has been for the last two days. He’s not that hurt really, just bumps and bruises. It’s certainly not as bad as he’s been in the past when he’s gotten back on the road. But Sam hasn’t said anything about it. Cas really hasn’t said much either, but Dean can see the way he's fading, faster each day. Fading into humanity again, and for no good reason. He moves with the same tiredness that Dean feels and for the first time Dean wonders when getting old and being tired feels like when you’ve been eternal and ageless for a long fucking time. 

It’s not the kind of thing he knows how to ask so they put on some old version of _A Christmas Carol_ and order pizza.

They both fall asleep about twenty minutes in, as's head pillowed on Dean's good shoulder and they agree not to tell Sam about it.

**October**

“I liked the music, I guess,” Cas tells him. 

“What the fuck do I need to do to keep ghosts and monsters and fucking TROLLS out of my Christmas experience?” Dean rants. “Fucking goth weirdo crap.” Cas is laughing at him which is even more annoying than fucking everything about Tim Burton.

“Did you eat _all_ the almond joy?” Cas asks, sifting through the detritus on the nightstand on his side. The eating thing is pretty new. It's cute but it scares the crap out of Dean too.

“I’m healing, I needed the protein,” Dean snaps.

“You aren’t even _bruised_ , Dean,” Cas shoots back, exasperated.

“There’s KitKats,” Dean offers meekly.

“You know how I feel about…”

“Yeah, yeah, the texture is too crumbly or whatever. I’ll get you more almond joy, yeesh,” Dean groans. “Making an injured man get you candy, what kind of monster are you?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas tells him and the warmth in his expression has Dean feeling a bit lighter. “I’m glad you’re healing up.”

 

**November 18**

Dean takes a badly sprained ankle as an excuse to finally tackle _It’s a Wonderful Life_ with Cas, who's even solicitous enough to help Sam set up the larger TV in Dean’s room to watch it.

Two minutes in and Cas can’t hide the pain on his face when he hears the name Clarence. Dean wonders if he’s remembering a mess of angels or one demons or both. Dean switches off the TV and hands Cas a beer without a comment and they watch reruns of _Bones_ for three hours without saying a word.

 

**November 19**

“Were you there?” Dean asks without thinking as he scrolls past _Nativity: The Movie_ or some shit to get to _Iron Man 3._

“At birth of Christ?” Cas asks, choking a bit on the bite of sandwich he’d just taken.

“Uh, yeah?” Dean feels himself blushing and he knows Cas sees it because the asshole is smiling just so slightly.

“What makes you think it even actually happened?” Cas asks back, swallowing with a shrug.

“ _What_?”

Cas takes another bite with more smugness than Dean thought possible and chews slowly, considering Dean as if he’s contemplating revealing the world’s biggest spoiler. “I wasn’t there, no,” he confesses finally as Dean take a swig of beer. “Though Balthazar did regale me with a tale of absolutely terrifying some shepherds many times.” Beer sprays across the bed and screen as Dean tries in vain to hold back his hysterics

 

**December 21**

“He shouldn’t even be alive,” someone is saying to someone else over the beep and whir of machines.

“I understand that, but…I just need to know how soon we can get out of here.” That one is Sam. He’s okay and knowing that lets Dean relax, even in the fog of pain and confusion. Sammy is okay. That’s half of what matters.

“Where’s…”

“Sam’s talking to the doctor,” the low rasp of Cas’s voice comes from closer than Dean expected. “He’s fine.”

“Whoever did this to me is dead right?” Dean croaks.

“Well, I don’t know if a collapsing roof qualifies as a who, but the demons that were using that church are all dead, yes,” Cas answers and the relief in his voice, and in his face when Dean cracks an eye open to finally look at him makes Dean wonder how bad the damage was.

“You got ‘em?” Dean asks.

“Sam got them, I got you.” As Dean’s focus sharpens he can see the damage that’s been done to Cas. He looks like he went 20 rounds with…well, something really mean and rough that Dean’s gonna think of real soon. They guy’s pale and drawn and startlingly…human.

“You’re done, aren’t you?” Dean asks softly. “Your grace. You wasted the last of it saving me from fucking ceiling-related death.”

“You still look terrible,” Cas deflects but doesn’t say no.

“Idiot,” Dean whispers. “Should have saved it for you.” Dean can’t tell which parts of him are broken or bruised, it’s a mess of sensation and numbness right now, but he knows for sure he’s walking out of here another medical miracle in a few days and because of that a celestial being isn’t going to be able to save himself when the ghouls or ceilings or werewolves of fucking dumpsters come for him.

“Yeah, well, I wanted you around for Christmas,” Cas tells him in a sigh.

“I didn’t get you anything.” The joke’s effect is lessened by Dean breaking into a pained cough and the subsequent groans of pain. Then Sam is there and doctors and Cas is smiling sadly from the corner and before Dean knows it he’s drifting off back to sleep.

“You’ve still got a few days,” Cas tells him through a lopsided smile and Dean’s pretty sure it’s real. “The nurse said they get cable, by the way.”

 

**December 22**

They have pretty good luck with the animated movies. Sam joins them in the hospital room because even Dean admits that, saved by grace (literally) or not, he needs a few more days on the good drugs before heading home.

Sam makes a few pretty predictable jokes about Dean being the Grinch. Cas smiles at Rudolf in a way that twists Dean’s insides into knots of adoration and regret. Dean gets a dirty look from a nurse when he states the plain truth that Charlie Brown is fucking boring and that the kid needs a therapist.

They watch _Elf_ after that and it hurts some to laugh, but seeing Cas and Sam there laughing too makes it hurt less. Or maybe more.

 

**December 23**

Dean will swear to his grave that _Love, Actually_ just happened to be on TV, _Sam_ , and that his fingers didn’t twitch to reach for Cas when the guy from _The Walking Dead_ did the thing with the signs for the chick from _Pirates of the Caribbean._

He does not, he tells himself, think about it for hours after. He doesn’t think about how he could possibly tell anyone, let alone a fucking angel that gave up everything to get nothing back, that he’d adore them or whatever for the rest of his sorry existence. Cas has to know already, any how, right? Dean’s not dumb. The guy doesn’t stick around for kicks, there has to be a reason he’s chosen Dean so many times. Even if it’s just that Dean is the person that makes him feel…less alone or alive or whatever.

It’s late. It doesn’t matter that the Cas is curled in the recliner in the corner again, sleeping in the room like he’s afraid Dean will disappear if he leaves. Except it matters a lot. But it’s a stupid idea any way.

 

**December 24**

“I think we need to take you back in,” Cas says as the (surprisingly mild) December wind whips around them in the hospital parking lot.

“Why?” Dean asks, avoiding eye contact and running his fingers over Baby’s familiar lines.

“Because I’m reasonably certain you have brain damage."

“Dude, all I did was ask you to drive,” Dean mutters. Cas continues to stare at him. “Come on man, Sam’s ditched us to go ahead and I’m still not quite up for it and…”

“And it’s _the Impala_ ,” Cas finishes for him.

“Yeah, and you’re…you,” Dean argues. “You’ve earned it.” Cas’s mouth hangs open in shock for a few more moments before he takes the keys from Dean. “Merry Christmas or whatever.”

It’s not much, but it’s a start and the way it makes Cas smile is worth the terror of the ride back to Lebannon to meet up with Sam at the bunker. Sam gives Dean a look when they arrive, the same one he gave him six hours before when Dean had asked him to hit up the town for a few things. He doesn’t say anything though because he doesn’t need to, never has.

“You should get back to resting,” Sam tells him, shaking his head and handing him an aluminum and plastic package containing a slice of pumpkin pie.

“Good thing the TV’s still in my room,” Dean grins. “You losers coming?” Sam and Cas have really mastered the eye rolling in tandem thing, Dean notes. Cas’s tune changes at least when he gets to Dean’s room and sees what Sam’s done. Dean’s pretty impressed too, considering his only instructions were “get us some fucking Christmas or I’m kicking your ass.”

The tree is kinda pathetic, but at least it’s got lights and a few ornaments. The star on top looks like it’s an artifact from the men of letters and Dean really hopes it’s not cursed or anything. There’s a siny gold garland draped around and more pie stacked beside the TV.

“Dude, am I still out of it or is the TV bigger?”

“I wanted mine back, Merry Christmas,” Sam smiles.

“Aw man, I didn’t get you anything,” Dean chuckles, pulling Sam into a careful hug.

“You’re alive, that’s enough.” Dean doesn’t miss the appreciative nod Sam sends in Cas’s direction too.

A moment is happening and Dean’s not really ready for it, so he shucks off his coat and plops (carefully) onto his own bed and makes room for Cas beside him in the place that had just become Cas’s somewhere along the way. “What’re we watching?”

“I liked this one very much,” Cas says firmly as the final credits of _White Christmas_ appear.

“What’d you like?” Dean asks, wondering if Cas is gonna say the music or the jokes or the dancing which were all pretty fantastic, Dean’s gotta say.

“The sisters, they reminded me of you and Sam,” Cas replies simply. Dean chokes a bit on air as Sam breaks into laughter. “What? Betty is very protective of Judy, they’re an excellent team and don’t benefit from lying to each other."

“So, I’m Rosemary Clooney?” Dean bristles, shooting Sam a useless look. “And that makes you, who? Friggin’ Bing Crosby?”

It’s Sam’s turn to choke. Cas raises an eyebrow and Dean suddenly wishes the ceiling would collapse on him. Again.

“I mean, he’s you know a soldier and…what with the misunderstanding, but good intentions and…” Dean’s mouth keeps moving but the words stop coming out for a moment. “Jesus, Sam, help me out.”

“Oh you’re on your own.”

“I’m getting more egg nog,” Dean grumbles and stalks (which is really fucking hard when you’re still recovering from getting your ass kicked by demons and shitty masonry, angelic assist or not) to the kitchen.

When he comes back twenty minutes later, three mugs in his hands and his composure a bit recovered, Sam is gone and Cas is up, pretending like he’s looking for his shoes or something.

“Hey, you can’t ditch me, I got more booze,” Dean tells him and the look on Cas’s face when he says that makes him feel terrified and brave at the same time. “Uh, where’d the Abominable Snowman go?”

“He said he was tired and would see us in the morning.” Cas takes a mug from Dean and downs most of it rather quickly, and Dean wonders for the first time if Cas is scared too. “Something about having fun and making good choices, as well.”

“Of course he did,” Dean mutters into his own cup.

Cas eases back onto his side of the bed without having to be told, and Dean takes his spot on the left.

“You wanna watch it again?” Dean asks, handing Cas the cup meant for Sam.

“I’d like that,” Cas smiles and settles close to Dean creating warm points of contact from shoulder all the way down to their socked feet. “Would you mind if I stayed…after?”

Dean’s a bit surprised Cas is the one to ask it, or that he even feels he needs to ask. "Not at all."

Dean’s never fallen asleep holding hands, finger intertwined. It’s nice though, especially in the light of their little tree, with music playing. Maybe it’s not heaven, but maybe it’s close enough.

**December 25**

It's very still, just the sound of Cas breathing beside him when Dean wakes on Christmas morning. His heart is still in his throat even so.

“Hey,” Dean says quietly as Cas’s eyes flutter open. They made themselves into closed parenthesis on the bed somewhere in the night, facing each other on the pillows.

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks without ceremony.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean huffs, but he finds himself squeezing Cas’s hand. It's warm and soft and seems so fragile now. “I wasn’t worth that, you know…your grace.”

“Yes, you were,” Cas tells him. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s a firm as stone ad his blue eyes are bright with conviction. “You’ve always been worth it.”

“I still didn’t get you anything,” Dean murmurs, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see his own unrecognizable reflection in Cas’s gaze. He doesn’t think he knows that guy, and yet he surrenders to the pull into Cas’s space and lets their foreheads meet.

“This is…this is more than enough,” Cas breathes and something about the small break in Cas’s voice when he says it breaks Dean. Or maybe finishes breaking him.

“How about a new mattress?” He surprises himself by opening his eyes and looking right at Cas to make the offer. “Or at least half of one.”

“You want me to stay?” Cas asks, or maybe just states. There’s awe behind the words, though Dean’s not sure why.

“Yeah, I want you to stay.” Cas nods slowly against the pillow, his nose brushing Dean’s.

“Alright.”

“And I’m not just talking about the rest of the day or night or whatever.”

“Understood.”

“I’m talking always.”

“Yes, I got that.”

“No wandering off or dying or…” Dean’s grateful in every possible way when Cas finally closes the distance and kisses him, soft, reverent and perfect.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Cas.”


End file.
